Hiking Vacation
by Sakiku
Summary: Alex is conned into a hiking vacation in the Brecon Beacons National Park. And for once, the trouble that finds him has nothing whatsoever to do with his secret occupation as Super Spy – merely a horrendously bad streak of luck.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Alex Rider, and I don't make any money from this. Would be too nice…

**Summary:** Alex is conned into a hiking vacation in the Brecon Beacons National Park. And for once, the trouble that finds him has nothing whatsoever to do with his secret occupation as Super Spy – merely a horrendous streak of bad luck.

**A/N:** I think it's a bit of a pity that whenever one mentions 'Brecon Beacons' in the AR fandom, everyone immediately thinks it's a synonym for 'SAS training camp'. In reality, the Brecon Beacons are a very nice National Park with plenty of hikers, an infantry training camp at Sennybridge, and plenty of wilderness to hold the SAS Selection (well, not now anymore, they migrated the Selection to the Scottish Highlands because there are fewer tourists to stumble across). Have fun enjoying the Brecon Beacons National Park…

**Edit 26-05-11:** General overhaul. Not plot or information, but writing style. Hopefully it's an improvement...

* * *

**Hiking Vacation**

Cursing like a sailor (well, not exactly like a sailor but like someone who had picked up a lot of colorful language from a variety of even more colorful locations), Alex Rider trudged through muddy grass and miserable weather in the heart of a certain infamous national park in southern Wales. The fog was so thick that he couldn't see more than four, five meters at the most; he was cold and damp and hungry; and he didn't know exactly where he was and where he was going. Yes, he did have a topographical map of the place, but he didn't have a compass or a GPS or anything else to help him identify his location and the direction he was going in – he couldn't even use the sun because of this damn bloody mist.

In short, he was thoroughly miserable.

Well, he would have had time to truly wallow in his misery if he hadn't been a driven man on a mission to find someone – anyone – to get help. He had left his friends three hours ago, and it really didn't look like he was making any headway in his search for civilization. Hell, he had known that the national park was big, but to be able to go for three hours straight and not even encounter any trail? He was using a stick to mark his passage in the ground every now and then, to make sure he wasn't walking in circles and that he'd find his way back again. But he hadn't yet caught sight of a landmark big and unique enough that he'd be able to find it on the map.

And for once in his recent life, MI6 had absolutely nothing to do with his current, miserable situation. He wasn't on a mission. He wasn't in an SAS training camp. He wasn't being chased by SCORPIA or any other terrorist organization. Hell, he wasn't even trying to run away from MI6 in some fit of teenage rebellion.

Nope, he was just bloody unlucky with his choice of vacation, friends to go on said vacation with, and just an all-out fantastic streak of ill fortune. And it had started out so innocently, too.

Tom Harris had invited him to go along on a backpacking / hiking trip with a group of other guys from the football team during summer break. At first, Alex hadn't really wanted to, simply out of principle (he had done enough 'enjoying nature' on his missions to last a life-time, thank you very much, and he wasn't very keen on spending a lot of time with immature brats who thought he was a druggy delinquent). But Tom had wheedled and whined that it would be a great occasion to make more friends, that it was always good to have someone with outdoor experience on the team, and that it might be a great opportunity to get away from his secret occupation.

The last argument had been the deciding factor. Alex had decided that it would serve MI6 right not to have him at their beck and call for a week, and Tom had been almost unnaturally happy to have his best friend along.

That should have been his first clue that something wasn't quite right with this 'holiday'. But no – Alex had agreed to come along, and come along he did even after Tom revealed the details he had been so frugal with before.

Apparently, the 'group of other guys from the football team' boiled down to exactly one, Darren their goalie. And Darren's older brother Mike, who was going to tag along as their adult supervision. Yes, Darren had invited the rest of the football team, too, but nobody except for Tom (and now Alex) had accepted. With the divorce going on at his home, Tom had practically jumped at the chance of getting out of the house for a couple days, and he had insisted that Alex come along so that he'd have someone to talk to. Darren wasn't the brightest or most likable of guys, and the only thing anyone knew about his brother was that he was 22 years old and enlisted in the infantry. Tom had apparently wanted some reinforcements so that he wasn't all on his own.

The second sign that should have clued Alex in was that, of all the British national parks they could have chosen, Darren and his brother had decided on the Brecon Beacons. At that moment, Alex would have gladly killed Tom if they hadn't been such good friends. It seemed that Darren's brother Mike wanted to see if they could get a glimpse of the first stage of SAS Selection, a series of grueling endurance tests to determine who was able to join the elite unit. And a large part of those tests were long marches (or 'tabs' as Alex had learned to call them) through the Brecon Beacons. Why couldn't Mike have been interested in the Royal Marines? Dartmoor was said to be very nice at this time of the year.

But Alex had promised, and so he had tagged along even if he really, really didn't want to have a run-in with any SAS members, in training or not. With his luck, they'd probably not only have a run-in but also stumble across their secret main encampment that he didn't ever want to see again in his life.

Darren, Tom and Alex had had to find their own way from London to the Brecon Beacons in Wales. Darren's brother Mike was stationed at the infantry training center in Sennybridge, practically in the heart of the Brecon Beacons. It was a small town nine miles west of Brecon, the town that the Brecon Beacons were named after. The four of them had met up at the Sennybridge train station, and then they had set off into the heart of the national park.

Two hours into their trip, Alex already regretted giving in to Tom. As the only adult of their group and a soldier on top ('Corporal Woodstock, please.'), Mike had managed to alienate Tom and Alex almost immediately with his haughty and commanding way. Yes, he had superior navigational equipment, a GPS and very detailed maps, and he had superior experience in the Brecon Beacons, having been stationed there for the last six months. And maybe he even had superior navigation skills, being a Bronze National Navigation Award holder; and command experience, being a non-commissioned officer and all. But did he have to rub it in that much?

The first day, they mainly stayed on the paths to get to the Black Mountain range, a less frequented range in the west of the park. According to Mike, that was the most likely location for the SAS selection; either that or the heart of the park around Pen y Fan. The Army rumor mill couldn't quite decide when and where the individual trials were held, so they'd have to have a bloody amount of luck to see anything.

They spent the night in a bunkhouse that had been designated their base of operations, from where they'd go on their daily hikes. It was a bit rustic but clean and quite comfortable, and it even came with breakfast. The next morning, Mike was a bit more hospitable, and at times downright amiable. He was still the self-declared Navigation King (Alex's compass and map just couldn't compete with a GPS system that had probably cost several hundred pounds), but as soon as he got to tell of his life in the Army, Mike's behavior got bearable.

Darren, who had the worst stamina of their group, hung on to his brother's every word. Apparently the goalie wanted to follow in his brother's footsteps and enlist as soon as he had his GCSE's, and he was using this vacation to train his fitness. His backpack weighed in at about forty pounds, and Alex could have sworn that he had seen Darren add a few rocks to whatever else he was lugging around in there. At the end of their second day, the poor guy looked ready to collapse and earned quite a bit of mockery from his brother (who was carrying a regulation ruck of 50 pounds). Tom and Alex wisely stayed out of their spat.

The third day, they left the paths for the first time. According to Mike, SAS soldiers were told to avoid roads and trails, so if they wanted to see one, they'd have to do the same. Tom and Alex rolled their eyes, but they went along. They hadn't really come for the popular sights anyway, and they doubted that Mike would have accommodated them if they had. That guy was absolutely fanatic in his hunt for a glimpse of SAS soldiers – Alex was starting to feel more and more like a biologist on the look-out for some rare breed of animal species. What would Mike do if Alex told him that he personally knew several full SAS members and had even trained with them?

But Alex remained quiet and only sometimes exchanged amused glances with Tom – when he wasn't pestering Mike to show them their route. He really didn't like it how the soldier kept his cards so close to his chest and didn't tell anyone where exactly they were heading. It seemed rather like the guy just went wherever he wanted to, choosing random directions and only checking their GPS coordinates sometimes that they didn't get too far away from their lodgings. Well, with a GPS that was fine. But for Alex, who had to rely on a combination of their current position, their average walking speed, surrounding landmarks, and his compass for directions, it was something of a nightmare. As uncoordinated as 'Corporal Woodstock' approached the situation, it was a miracle that he had got the Bronze Navigation Award at all.

The fourth day was when disaster struck. Despite a warning that the weather might turn, they had departed for another round of SAS-hunting. After all, it had been still sunny in the morning. Their luck held until noon, but then clouds quickly gathered and soon a bitingly cold rain caught them on their descent from one of the hills. It didn't take long for the grass to become very slippery, and since they had left the trails early in the morning, they had to see how they could make their own way back.

And then it happened. Mike slipped on an especially treacherous piece of vegetation and went tumbling down the steep hillside with a shout.

From afar, the Black Mountain range looked like it was covered with a carpet of closely-cropped grass – no trees or shrubs until one descended into the valleys between, and even then they grew very sparsely unless there was a source of water around. But from up close, the hill-sides lost their velvety grass quality and gained an interesting variety of rocks, brambles, thistles, and other assorted weather-hardened vegetation. To put it short, Mike's tumble wasn't as harmless as it looked.

Darren immediately went after his brother with a speed that Alex feared he'd hurt himself, too. Tom and Alex followed more cautiously, but no less hurried. It took almost a hundred meters until Mike came to a sickeningly limp stop, not reacting to any of their calls.

Being the first one to reach his brother, Darren immediately began to mindlessly shake him that he might wake up. Alex cursed and threw all caution to the wind. He slid down the last meters and wrenched Darren away from his brother. There was no knowing how badly Mike was injured, and the way Darren was handling the situation, it was almost certain that he'd aggravate things. Alex roughly commanded Tom, who had finally crossed the distance, to keep Darren out of his way as he checked on the man himself.

There was no way that Alex was a medical professional, but he'd gained quite a bit of experience throughout his missions. Mike's ABCs were alright – one immediate worry less – and his back didn't look broken, probably protected by his backpack. His right leg though definitely was, and he was bleeding quite heavily from his mouth. Alex hoped that it was just the lips and cheeks and the two teeth that had been knocked out, and not a sign of a pierced lung. The most worrying thing though was that Mike still hadn't regained consciousness. Had he hit his head hard enough that he had a concussion or, even worse, a skull fracture?

Silently apologizing to the man, Alex carefully unstrapped him from his backpack and rolled him onto his side as well as he could on the steep hillside. Alex tried to get him into a stable position where he wouldn't choke on his own blood. He couldn't really be considerate of the broken leg because survival came before pain.

Next, they needed to keep the guy as warm and dry as possible; hypothermia was their greatest enemy especially in this miserable weather. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but a dense fog was creeping up, and the temperature plummeted further.

With Tom's help, Alex raided all of their packs for warm and waterproof clothes while Darren's input was reduced to hovering anxiously above Mike. For once Alex was glad that his uncle had taught him to always be prepared for an emergency, because otherwise he wouldn't have packed the isolating heat-foil, a second set of dry clothes, a flash-light, and a small First Aid kit. Even Mike, who was supposed to know better due to his education in the Army, had foregone any additional weight beyond food and water.

But Alex's things came in handy now. He delegated the task of making Mike as warm and comfortable as possible to Tom and Darren, before looking for a way to alert a rescue team. Even if Mike woke up, there'd be no way for him to walk on his broken leg, and none of them were strong enough to carry a man who was almost a head taller and at least fifty pounds heavier than them.

And that was when the true problems started.

Alex had deliberately left his mobile at home so that MI6 couldn't contact him. He did wear his Smithers-enhanced iPod that had an emergency beacon, but it transmitted a distress signal directly into Blunt's office. If he activated it, half of MI6 would rush there with guns blazing, and he didn't think the situation was desperate enough yet to warrant such measures.

Tom's mobile had been short-circuited two days ago when he had first dropped it on a rock, and then into a small river. Darren's seemed to be ok, but Alex couldn't get it to turn on. When questioned, Darren guiltily admitted that he had used up his battery phoning his girlfriend. And Mike's? It was broken, just like the GPS and anything else not shock-proof that he had carried on his person during his fall.

No, it looked like someone would have to go and fetch help in person. And that 'someone' needed to be Alex because Darren was in no physical shape to do a forced march under these conditions, and he was in no mental shape be left alone with his brother, either. So the choice boiled down to either Tom or Alex making the trip, and Alex had more experience and more navigation skills and more stamina. It wasn't a real choice.

He had left most of his things with the group and only taken some food and water and a torch. Traveling as light as possible, he could cover the greatest distance. Thanks to Mike's reliance on his GPS and him not telling anyone where exactly they were going, Alex only had a vague idea where they were.

He had started out in a north-western direction, as his map told him that this was the closest way to civilization. And as soon as he found a trail, he'd be able to go a lot faster. But not even an hour into his journey, he managed to trip and damage his compass badly enough that it became unreliable. From then on, he was merely walking in as straight a line as possible, hoping he didn't veer off-course too much.

And that was how Alex Rider came to be trudging through the Welsh country side three hours later, with only a vague idea of where he was and where he was going.

He thought he should have hit a hill at least an hour ago, but he hadn't noticed any tell-tale incline in the terrain. If the weather hadn't been that bad, he could have tried and used the surrounding hillsides for orientation. However, with the fog that thick, he'd practically have to stumble over anything he was looking for.

To his quiet alarm, it was getting later and later. 18:00 had passed a while ago, and in less than two hours, it was going to become dark very, very quickly. He just hoped that Tom could handle the situation – Alex had left him a set of instructions what he was supposed to do in as many cases as he could think of (hypothermia, Mike waking up, Mike not waking up, Alex not returning before nightfall), but he couldn't plan for everything.

Digging another furrow into the ground, Alex once more marked his way. He had taken to using his heel to scratch the grass away to leave a clear line of bare earth. That kind of trail should remain visible for a few days at least. The marking slowed him down a lot, but that was better than the rescue team not knowing where to go. On the other hand, it might be faster for him to tell them where he last knew their location to be and then search from there. The more time passed, the more likely that option became.

And then, the luck that had left him quite some time ago, made a dubious reappearance: Just when he was debating on whether to start using his torch lamp, he more or less tripped over a heavily camouflaged tent.

"Hello?" he called, not sure whether the tent was abandoned or not. "Anyone in there? I need someone to call for help! My friend's broken his leg and I had to leave him behind to get help! Hello!"

Between exhausted panting, Alex realized that he was starting to sound slightly hysterical, so he shut up. Either there was someone in the tent and they had heard him, or there was nobody there and he'd have to continue his search.

To his great relief though, a gruff male voice answered back. "Hold your horses, I'm coming."

He heard some rustling from inside the tent, and half a minute later, the tent flap zipped open. A graying head of hair and stubble popped outside and looked around. When the man caught sight of Alex in his muddy and exhausted state, he frowned. "You're a bit early and a bit young to be one of mine. What the hell are you doing here, lad?"

"Sorry, Sir, need someone to call a rescue team. One of our group got injured, and we're not sure just how severe it is besides the broken leg. When I left them about…" Alex glanced at his watch, "… four hours ago, he was still unconscious. He took a bad fall down a hillside, and we didn't want to move him."

The man stared at him and then shook his head exasperatedly. "Alright, come in. You look knackered. I've got a radio in here."

He unzipped the rest of the tent flap and Alex gladly slipped inside. It had been getting colder by the minute, and his damp clothes didn't really help matters. Rubbing his fingers to produce some friction warmth, he looked around. The tent was tiny – it was only about waist-high, and there was barely enough space for a sleeping bag, a backpack and some other equipment, everything either army issue or army surplus. The man lighted his torch, and in the sudden brightness, the small tent looked even smaller.

From what Alex could see, the man was in his forties, a wiry build that was in top condition, several scars on his hands and face, and he looked like he knew how to handle himself in a fight – probably ex-soldier or so. He didn't look very enthused about the interruption, but not like he'd want to throw Alex out, either.

The man offered Alex to sit down on the sleeping bag next to him and dug around in his pack for a bit. He tossed Alex something that turned out to be a ration bar, but continued searching. "Eat that, you look half starved. Now, tell me what's going on; I need to know as many details as possible before I can make the call. Oh, and I'm Sean."

"Alex." Alex didn't give a last name either. Instead, he continued with what had happened. "We got surprised by the weather on the Llyn y Fan ridge, and Mike slipped on our way down. He fell down a hillside some fifty to hundred meters or so, and managed to break his right leg, just below the knee area. He was also knocked out, and when I left them, he was still out. I don't think it's a skull fracture, but I'm no medic. His spine and breathing seemed ok, too, but he was bleeding from his mouth. I'm quite sure that all the blood came from the two teeth he managed to knock out, not any lung damage. At least none of his ribs moved in ways they shouldn't, and his breathing didn't sound wet.

"I think the worst danger he's in is hypothermia at the moment, unless he's woken up by now. We managed to dress him in dry clothes and wrap him in a heat foil, but we don't have any camping equipment. My two mates are staying with him. I'm not sure what _their_ mental condition is though; Darren is Mike's brother, and he was almost hysterical. He had calmed down some when I left them, but I'm not sure how he's going to hold up all alone with Tom and his unconscious brother. Tom should be able to keep the situation under control, but he doesn't know very much about first aid. I told him the most important things to look out for though.

"Oh, and Tom and Darren are as old as I am, while Mike's 22 and an infantry corporal at Sennybridge. He's the one who did all the navigating with his GPS system and didn't much talk to us about where we were going, so I'm not really sure where exactly the accident happened. I think it was the south-western side of Llyn y Fan Fawr, but I can't be sure 'cause his system broke when he fell. I headed out north-west in hope of reaching Llanddeusant or Twynllanan, but an hour into my march my compass broke. I tried to keep in as straight a line as possible, but I couldn't see a thing in this damned fog. I think I either got turned around a bit or didn't quite start out where I thought we were, because I missed several landmarks that I should have hit. Then again, I could have walked straight by them in this weather.

"Where are we now, by the way?"

Alex had fished the map out of his backpack and had opened it to the relevant section, trying to trace his way through sheer stubborn will.

The man, Sean, unbent from searching through his pack. "Lemme see. Ah, that's a map with good detail. It's not a GPS map, this yours?"

"Yeah," Alex nodded, finally taking notice of the ration bar in his hands. "I didn't know what and if the others had brought any navigation equipment, so I brought my own. For all the good it did me."

The ration bar. Ah, yes. Well, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he unwrapped the bar and bit into it. Gah. Military issue, like the rest of the equipment in the tent. Nonetheless it was vital calories, and he realized only then just how hungry he was.

"Here, below Usk Reservoir." The man seemed to have found their location on Alex's map. Sadly, his finger was nowhere near where Alex thought he'd be.

With a gulp, he swallowed his current mouthful of chewy cardboard. "Crap. Either I got turned around worse than I thought, or I left them somewhere completely else. The last coordinates that I remember from noon are longitude .69-something, latitude .88-something, that should be here (2). From there on out, we stayed on the ridge, and when the weather turned bad at around 1400, we advanced downhill, south-west I thought. But to get to the Usk Reservoir, I should have had to cross the ridge again. And I definitely didn't go uphill that much. But I don't think we went down the other side, the north side, either; at least I didn't see this lake here anywhere on our way down. Don't tell me I actually managed to walk around half the Llyn y Fan massif without even once stumbling on a single trail or road…"

The man – Sean, he had to remind himself – shook his head. "Even on the most direct route, that would be 10 kilometers minimum, depending on where exactly you left them. And in weather like this, there's no telling how far you drifted off that minimum path. You said you left them four hours ago?"

Alex nodded, taking another bite of the ration bar. That was right, he would have had to average quite a bit more than 2.5 km an hour to manage that feat of walking around the mountain. And on uneven off-road terrain, with as many stops as he had made to mark his path, that would be quite a feat. On the other hand, that maybe explained his bloody sore feet. "Well, I feel like I did walk at least ten kilometers. And if that isn't what I did, I really have no bloody idea where they are. Damn it."

"Calm down, son," the grizzled veteran said. "You did well. They'll find them, especially with the coordinates you remembered. I'm going to call dispatch now, and they'll organize a rescue, starting with your last known location and go from there. Do your mates have anything to signal with? Torch, whistle, bright-colored clothing?"

"I left them a torch. Tom probably knows how to flash SOS, but I'm not sure how much help that'll be in this fog. Not sure if they'll remember to, either. And, if it helps, I marked my trail pretty regularly, every fifty to a hundred meters or so. Big capital T-shape scratched into the ground, T-bar at the end I was heading towards."

The ration bar was gone, and he crunched the sticky wrapper between his fingers. Wordlessly, the man threw him another one before finally liberating a full-blown signal radio from his pack. The sturdy design looked like it was intended for military operations – like everything else in that tent.

With a practiced motion, Sean adjusted the antenna and briefly checked the frequency. It started crackling, and the man nodded in satisfaction. Pressing the talking button, he spoke into it. "Home, this is Usk Reservoir. Come in, over."

Releasing the button, the two of them got to listen to low white-noise for a short period of time. Then a static-riddeled voice answered. "Usk Reservoir, this is Home. Go ahead."

"Home, Usk Reservoir, need forward to civilian Emergency Services, over."

"Usk Reservoir, Home, say again. Over."

"Home, Usk Reservoir, have civilian teenager here with injured friend in Llyn y Fan area. Need to alert civilian Emergency Services, over."

"Usk Reservoir, Home. Hold, over."

"Home, Usk Reservoir. Roger. Out" (3)

Alex had at first raised his eyebrows at so much strict voice protocol, but as soon as he heard the word 'civilian' leave Sean's mouth, he wanted to bang his head against something hard. Why was it always him?

He should have gotten suspicious when Sean had taken out the signal radio. Getting access to such a model wasn't easy. And most military nuts weren't fanatic enough to go that far. Camping out in the middle of nowhere with nothing but army-surplus, yes, but setting up a whole communications network with a home base and call-signs?

Well, the infamous Rider luck had struck once again, getting him to stumble on an active mission. And, if Alex knew his luck, this wasn't just any military mission but one of the tests of SAS Selection. Judging by what 'Sean' had said at the very beginning, he had to be manning one of the checkpoints for some kind of nighttime navigation exercise.

Eh, he really didn't envy those guys who had to traipse around the Black Mountains in this weather on a glorified paper chase.

"What's the matter, lad?" 'Sean' (Alex doubted that the man had given his real name) asked quietly so as to be able to listen to the radio at the same time, in case someone hailed him back.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "Just admiring the ironies of life. You know why we were out there? 'Cause Mike wanted to get a glimpse of SAS Selection."

"Mike, the corporal? The one who's down?"

Alex nodded mutely, chewing slowly on his second ration bar.

Sean's answering bark of laughter was short and amused, but he didn't confirm or deny what Alex had hinted at. Not that Alex had expected him to. "Well, tell him that the next time, he should better look at ground instead of chasing after a dream. Your head seems to be screwed on a lot better than his."

Shrugging, Alex balled up the now empty wrapper and, after seeing no immediate place to throw it away, stuffed it into his pocket. "So, what'm I supposed to do after authorities are alerted? If you give me a compass, I can find my own way to Llanddeusant."

Someone there probably would be able to give him a lift to their bunkhouse or let him stay for the night. What he really wanted to do was join the rescue mission for his friends, but for that he'd have to meet up with the rescue team first and he doubted they would take a 15-year-old anywhere but a bed.

Sean inhaled as if to say something, but he was interrupted by the radio. "Usk Reservoir, this is Home. Come in, over."

He threw Alex a glance before he answered. "Home, Usk Reservoir, go ahead, over."

"Usk Reservoir, home. Situation? Over."

"Home, Usk Reservoir. Civilian, aged-" he looked at Alex in askance, and Alex mouthed 'fifteen', "aged fifteen, got lost looking for help, found my position on accident. He left three people at 15 hundred, two civilian teens and an infantry corporal from Sennybridge. The corporal is injured, broken leg and unconscious as of 1500. No camping equipment, but heat foil. Last known position 51.88, -3.69 at noon. Over."

"Usk Reservoir, Home, copy. Rescue has been alerted. Switch to 31.744 to give them details. Do not interrupt night exercise. We will send someone to get the boy. Over."

"Home, Usk Reservoir, 31.744, roger. Usk Reservoir out."

Apparently no more lonely night-time wanderings for one Alex Rider.

With practiced motions, the man switched frequencies and made the call to rescue dispatch. He stopped one or two times to get additional information from Alex, but otherwise he repeated what Alex had told him almost verbatim. Rescue dispatch commended Alex on his actions before they cut the connection with a promise to keep him updated via the command line.

"So, you heard them," the veteran commented. "You're going to be stuck with me for at least an hour. I need to cut the light soon because of the exercise, so you should get comfortable now. Here." He handed Alex a jacket and training pants that he had dug out of his pack, "get out of your wet clothes and wear this. Should be warmer. Any blisters or other injuries?"

"No, got good boots. Thanks."

Everything was the olive color of military camouflage and three sizes too big, but at least it was cozy. The man turned around, but a one-man-tent wasn't big enough for real privacy. If Sean noticed any of Alex's scars or found them unusual, he didn't say anything.

Wordlessly, Alex took the thermos cup with steaming hot tea that Sean handed him afterwards and sipped it carefully. Gradually, he might be feeling human again.

When he was done, Sean took it back and turned off the light. "You should lie down and get some sleep. You look knackered."

At first, Alex couldn't see anything, but slowly his eyes got used to the darkness. "Yeah, I know. Don't know if I can though."

"'s not like you can do anything at the moment, so you should save your energy for later." Sean sounded sympathetic.

"Never been one to rely on others." Mostly because there hadn't been any 'others' on his missions, and whenever he called for backup from MI6, they tended to arrive sorely too late. "More of a do-it-yourself man."

Nonetheless, he curled up on top of the sleeping bag he was sitting on and tried to take up as little space as possible. He still almost bumped against the veteran's legs since the tent was that small.

"You did good. Didn't lose your head, judged the situation clearly, did everything you could, and then went and got help."

"Mhm."

They lapsed into silence, not really an uncomfortable one. Alex listened to the sounds in the tent, from the man's almost inaudible breathing to his occasional shift in posture, to the rain drizzling on the canvas and other nature sounds that were barely muffled.

He didn't even realize when he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

(2) GPS systems give the exact latitude and longitude coordinates in degrees with decimals. One degree is a distance of a little bit more than a hundred kilometers, so Alex doesn't really have to include the degree itself, just the decimals. With two decimals, he has managed to narrow the area to a bit more than a square kilometer. And, yeah, I'm anal like that – I actually looked up those coordinates via Google. Latitude 51.88, longitude -3.69 (Llyn y fan fawr).

(3) I don't know anything about military radio protocol (at least nothing beyond watching the occasional movie), so I really have no clue if that's the way they do stuff like that. Heck, I don't know regular civilian voice protocol, either, so everything's just made up with help from trusty old Wikipedia.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, what do you think? Like it? Hate it? And no, there won't be any spy-business involved. It's a hiking vacation after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you very much for all the encouraging reviews last chapter. I was a bit surprised to see so many people complimenting me on Sean – I didn't think he'd be such a noteworthy character, more of a passing acquaintance of Alex's. And yeah, I'm glad that nobody seems to mind my somewhat unusual choice of topic for an AR fic. Now enjoy the next chapter.

**Edit 26-05-11**: Some cosmetic changes. No plot changes though, just an update to smooth out some rough grammar.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Alex must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew was a sudden tension radiating from the man next to him. Stilling completely, he tried to listen for what might be the cause.

There, the sounds of someone clearly exhausted approaching their tent. Whoever it was certainly didn't bother to keep his panting down and his shuffling boots quiet.

"Waypoint six, Charlie Alpha Oh-Eight," came a breathy male voice, thin from exertion.

Sean relaxed and got up, and Alex's eyes had gotten used to the darkness so that he could make out the man motioning for him to stay down. Apparently one of the guys from the nighttime exercise. Alex listened to them exchange several code words outside the tent, one of them probably the coordinates for the next waypoint, and then Sean came back inside smelling of cold rain and night air. He reported the meeting to Home and got told in return that the pickup rendezvous should be in twenty minutes, another twenty minutes before the next Charlie Alpha was expected. They aimed to avoid disturbing the exercise as much as possible.

On the civilian side, the search and rescue team had already headed out an hour and a half ago. So far, they hadn't found anything yet.

"You hear that?" the veteran asked quietly after the call ended. "They're doing everything they can for your mates. I know couple of the rescue guys, and they're really good. They'll find them in no time."

Alex propped himself up, getting a bit sore from remaining in such a cramped position. "I guess. What time is it?"

"Almost ten."

Yeah, he definitely had nodded off there. "Guess I'll better get ready then. They gonna take me to whoever's directing the rescue, or to our bunkhouse?"

He could barely make out the shrug of Sean's dark outline. "My guess would be neither. I bet they'll cart you off to sign a secrecy statement that you won't reveal anything about what you might have seen or heard tonight."

"They do know that I'm underage, don't they?" He folded his legs beneath him Indian style, too awake now to even think about going back to sleep.

"They were listening in on our communication with Rescue Dispatch. They know your name, and by now they've probably contacted your parents already."

Alex groaned. That was just what he needed. With only his name to go by, they probably hadn't ended up with Jack's phone number but with whoever was responsible for him at MI6. The one time he had made a concentrated effort at getting a vacation from the spy business, they were brought back into the picture not even halfway in. He could just imagine Blunt's surprise when he received a call from SAS command that one Alex Rider had been picked up in the middle of the Brecon Beacons and might be able to disclose the identity of one of their ex-soldiers.

Just why in the world had his uncle given his guardianship over to the bank and not done everything in his might to get Jack to take him in? "Peachy."

"You don't get along with your parents?"

"Wouldn't know. They died when I was too young to remember anything. Got brought up by my uncle, who left my guardianship to the bank he worked at after he died in a car accident a year and a half ago."

"A _bank_?" There was plenty of incredulity in Sean's voice. "Is that even legal?"

"They made sure it was. Gives a whole new meaning to bankers owning people's lives, doesn't it?"

Somehow, despite his worries about Tom and the others, he felt relaxed in Sean's presence. The man was really easy to talk to and an all-round nice guy, contrary to some certain other SAS people he could mention. Well, Ben had been nice, too, but he had been recruited away from the Regiment (1). Maybe SAS guys were only nice as long as they knew they didn't have to get used to a snotty teen being attached to their unit?

"I should give you back your clothes," Alex added as an after-thought.

The veteran waved him off. "Nah, don't bother. Yours are still wet and all. Keep them, at least until they're done interrogating you."

Alex tried his best not to tense up at the mention of 'interrogation'. On a mission three months ago, he had run into a bit of foul luck and had gained a couple of interesting new scars in the process. He now had a healthy respect for kitchen implements, and for what creative people could achieve with them. The first few weeks afterwards, Jack and he had lived of nothing but take-out that could be eaten with blunt plastic knives and sporks.

He must have done not a very good job of pretending everything was alright however, because Sean continued, "Don't worry, you aren't in any trouble. They'll just ask you a couple of questions to find out what you've seen, then they'll give you a secrecy form to sign, and then they'll probably take you to Rescue Command."

"Aah. Thanks." He fiddled a bit with his too long shirt sleeve as another silence descended upon them.

Sean was once again the first to break it. "How come you aren't talking my ear off? You pretty much figured out what's going on already, and I remember that when I was your age, I would have had tons of questions. Or am I that intimidating?"

Alex snorted. He really wasn't that curious about the SAS; the two weeks of training hell had been enough to last a lifetime, thank you very much. And he probably knew a lot more about them than Sean thought anyway. "Well, I'm not the one who wanted to go SAS hunting. I just tagged along because my friend Tom wanted me to."

A short laugh answered him. "And it was good you did. You've got an excellent head on your shoulders, something the Army could really use. Ever thought of joining?"

Alex shrugged, not caring whether Sean could see him or not. "I don't think my guardians would go along with that. And I've got plenty of excitement in my life already, seeing that I can't even go on a simple holiday without trouble following me," he finished with slight irony.

The man laughed softly. "Then any other plans for the future?"

"Pass my GCSEs, survive until I'm eighteen, and hope that my guardians will let me do my own thing then without resorting to blackmail." Shit, he must be more tired than he thought for his tongue to slip that much. At least saying it like that, it sounded like typical teenage melodramatics instead of the naked truth of his life. Weren't the twenty minutes almost over already so that he didn't have time to blab any more secrets?

Slipping into his hiking boots in the dark was a bit more difficult than when he could see, but he managed to feel his way into them. They were damp and clammy, not very comfortable. Upon Sean's questioning noise, he explained that he had to go visit a tree so that he wouldn't wet his pants during interrogation. That elicited another laugh and a warning not to go too far so as not to get lost again. After all, this time he didn't even have his map with him.

Once he passed the tent flap, he was greeted by a fine, sprinkling rain. Nonetheless, he was quite happy to be able to stand up straight again and stretch his limbs after the cramped and stuffy interior of the tent. And it looked like the rain was finally starting to clear the fog away. That would be good for the rescue teams trying to find Tom and the others.

Finding a tree in those environments would have been a bit too difficult, so he made do with a lonely patch of knee-height thistles that he had almost tripped over in the dark. Even in case the plants were innocent, they probably could deal with their extra dose of acid rain. They certainly had been hardy enough to prick him through his borrowed pants.

Revenge completed, he returned with a slightly clearer head. The cold would be quite bad for Tom and Co, and Alex hoped that Tom had remembered his suggestion to cuddle up together under the heat foil. In a case like that, there was no time for gay sensibilities or whatever else one might call it. It was bound to only get colder as the night went on.

He was greeted by Sean asking whether he felt well enough now to survive being questioned by several big bad SAS men without any embarrassing incidences. If it hadn't been so dark, Alex would have flipped him off. Well, maybe it was better that it _was_ dark, because he did it anyway.

They continued to sit together in comfortable silence, waiting for Alex to be picked up. Alex hadn't gone through the troubles of taking off his shoes again, seeing as that would be soon enough.

Both Sean and Alex startled when someone called out to them from just beyond the tent flap. Neither of them had heard anyone approach. "Waypoint six, this is Eagle. I hear you've picked up a Cub for me?"

Oh, Hell no. Alex barely managed not to groan. That was the very last thing he needed. But that voice told him all he ever wanted to know: Someone had found out just who he was, and they must have thought it would be funny to give K-Unit the task of fetching him. And to top it all off, they had even told his identity to K-Unit. The only question remained whether it really was all of K-Unit, or whether Eagle had come on his own. After all, only one person was needed to drive whatever transportation they had provided.

Judging by his cheery behavior, Eagle definitely seemed to be enjoying himself. He had probably snuck up on Sean and Alex just to have the satisfaction of knowing he had startled them. Someone up there in the command line was a closet sadist to have sent one of the only four people in the whole Regiment who actually knew and coincidentally hated him.

Alex was drawn out of his self-pity as soon as Sean called back, "Alright, hold on a sec." Alex did his best not to flinch when a large hand patted his shoulder. "Well, kid, your pick-up is here. Don't worry, Eagle's a nice guy; at least he's funny. Good luck with your friends. Was nice to meet you, and think about joining. We could really use someone like you."

"Will do. Thanks for everything."

"No problem." The hand squeezed his shoulder briefly and then went away.

Alex got up, grabbed his backpack and left the tent, ready to face his doom. He heard Sean move behind him to stick his head through the tent flap. Eagle greeted him with a flash-light held to his chin so that it looked like he was illuminated by reddish hell-fire from below. Alex merely shook his head at his childishness. "Ready to go, Sir."

Eagle's whole face lit up at seeing Alex. "There you are. I'm Eagle, nice to meet you. Please follow me, I had to leave my jeep a ways off. So, had a nice adventure today?"

Taking the unmistakable hint, Alex didn't let on that he knew Eagle. Probably something that Sean (or whatever his real name was) wasn't supposed to know. "Could have been better. Less wet and less cold."

"Well, one can't have everything," Eagle proclaimed philosophically. "I'll take it from here, Dick. Have fun waiting for the Greens."

"Thanks," came the dry response from behind Alex. "I still remember when you were one of them Greens, you know? Wasn't too long ago, after all."

"Oi, that's been more than four years now, to let you know. I'm on my second tour (2) already," Eagle squawked indignantly.

Sean or Dick or whoever he was, just laughed. "Well, at least you haven't changed a bit. Good to see you again. Got time to catch up tomorrow?"

"Sure. I'm back on duty the day after though, so I need to leave tomorrow evening. Later!"

With a call of 'Later' echoing behind them, Eagle and Alex wandered off.

As soon as they were out of hearing range, Alex couldn't keep silent anymore, almost bursting with questions. "What the hell's going on here? What are you doing at Brecon Beacons, Eagle? Shouldn't you and K-Unit be like, somewhere off to Iraq or Afghanistan or stewing in some kind of jungle?"

Eagle remained as chipper as ever. "Ah, I'm afraid that your info's a bit out of date, Cub. We're on our counter-revolutionary warfare (CRW) rotation right now. And didn't you miss us?"

"Like hell I did. And how am I supposed to know stuff like that? The last I heard from you was the get-well-card Wolf sent me from Iraq a year ago. And anyway, it's news to me that CRW's got a team stationed in the Brecon Beacons," Alex grumbled.

"They don't. But Hereford's only forty miles away and I'm on leave."

Where did Eagle get all this creepy friendliness from? The last time Alex had talked to the man was on the day Alex's two weeks at the camp had come to an early closure, and Eagle had been as antagonistic back then as the rest of K-Unit. "And you've got nothing better to do than coming back here to SAS training hell." Yes, sarcasm was Alex's main forte.

"Sure. Don't you know how fun it is watching all those Greens struggle to get into the Regiment? And I don't seem to be the only one to go to the Brecon Beacons for vacation."

Alex almost groaned. "Please don't tell me that the rest of K-Unit's here, too?"

Alex didn't see the eye-roll, but he could hear it. "No, they're back at Hereford. And I'm talking about you, my dear Double-Oh-Nothing."

Oh no. That blasted nickname again. "Wasn't my idea. I agreed to come before I knew we'd be running after some insane corporal on a hunt to get a glimpse at SAS Selection."

Eagle almost doubled over laughing. When he finally could talk again, he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "I don't remember you being so funny, Cub."

"And I don't remember you being so old." Already in a bad mood, Alex crossed his arms and refused to say another word.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that. You know, I'm to take you to Rescue Command directly, since they got confirmation from high up that you already have plenty of security clearance. No need to go to the camp."

"Mmh."

"Say, what _do_ you do to have that high of a clearance? Fox told me sometime last year that he met you on some Asian fish trawler or so and got shot by your godfather. Are all of your family that aggressive?"

God damn it, weren't there some secrecy clauses to keep Ben from blabbing Alex's life story to everyone? Well, admittedly, that wasn't a very accurate retelling of the Snakehead events, but that wasn't the point. Eagle shouldn't know anything at all about that operation.

Outwardly, he kept his cool though. "That what he told you? He must suffer from some pretty faulty memory then. And I'd like to see who my family can harm with their aggressions when they're six feet under."

Alex was wondering a bit about himself why he was bringing up his deceased family so often, especially when it still hurt to think about Ian and the whole Scorpia mess. The stress of worrying about Tom and Darren and Mike? Well, at least Eagle wasn't tactless enough to ask if Alex meant that his family was six feet under, or his family's enemies. Finally something to shut him up.

"So that why they sent you to us one and a half years ago, because you were too rebellious after your parents died? Two weeks of SAS hell to cure you of delinquent behavior?"

Or not. Did Eagle even know the word 'tact'? Alex was getting seriously pissed off there, and if Eagle continued like that, Alex couldn't be held responsible for what he would do. "Why the hell are you so interested in me all of a sudden? You didn't care a whit when you first met me."

"Ah, that's true," Eagle nodded sagely. "But then, you hadn't kicked Wolf's ass out of an airplane yet. You were just a snot-nosed brat back then."

A snot-nosed brat? Feh, he'd like to see what they would have said if they had gotten any other 14-year-old attached to their unit. Then again, they probably wouldn't have said anything because the other teen wouldn't have survived the first two days. "If I was a snot-nosed brat back then, what am I now?"

"A snot-nosed brat with an awesome coolness-factor!"

He couldn't help the snort that escaped him despite still being pissed at Eagle. He should have known that the answer would be something along those lines. "And does Wolf think so, too, or is that just your personal opinion?"

"Well, Wolf's the reason why you're still categorized as a snot-nosed brat. Snake and I were voting for awesome and cool, but since he's the team leader, his opinion counts more than ours."

"If he thinks I'm a snot-nosed brat, I wonder what he's going to call his children."

The beacon of Eagle's flash-light wavered piteously as Eagle tried his hardest to recover from his stumble. "_Wolf_ and _children_? He doesn't have a steady enough girlfriend to even think about children!"

"From what they told us at school, you don't need much of either, steady girlfriend or thinking, to get children."

It sounded like Eagle had swallowed his tongue and got it down the wrong pipe. It took him a while to cough it up again. "I think I'm going to tell that to him the next time I see him," Eagle mumbled between chortles. "And we're here. Hop in, it's unlocked."

And indeed, Eagle's flash-light illuminated a slightly dirtied jeep in camouflage colors. Alex took shot-gun while Eagle went around to the other side. As soon as Eagle started the engine and switched on the headlights, Alex almost banged his head on the doorframe in frustration. The jeep was parked right next to a road. Not a very big road, but a road nonetheless. It was even paved.

How in the world had he managed to stumble through the national park for four hours without finding any trails, even tripping over a tiny tent of an SAS operative, but not the big, fat road that was less then ten minutes away?

"You alright?" For once, Alex could detect only concern in Eagle's voice.

"Yeah," he answered tiredly. "Long day and enough bad luck for three lifetimes."

"Hey, the search teams out there are good, and if your mates are only half as resourceful as you, they're going to be fine."

And that was exactly why he was worried. Not that he doubted Tom, but the other two… "I hope so."

Finally Eagle had nothing to say to that and instead focused on the road. Alex looked out the window and tried to make out shapes that had been barely illuminated by the headlights, before the jeep passed them and everything went dark again.

It didn't take long until a small village appeared, but they passed through without stopping. Another village passed before they turned onto a larger road.

This time, it was Alex who struck up conversation. "So, how did you get roped into becoming my personal chauffeur?"

"A combination of volunteering and recruiting."

"Hm?" That actually sounded like an interesting story.

Eagle looked at him briefly and smiled before turning his attention back to the road. However he had an unnerving tendency of taking his hands off the steering wheel to gesticulate while talking. "When they looked for your guardians, they apparently raised a few flags somewhere. The base commander got a phone-call, and then a fax with your security clearance and a picture. He recognized you and thought it might be nice if you got to see a familiar face. But since I am on leave and not under his jurisdiction, he couldn't command me, so I volunteered."

Alex had to stare. "The base commander recognized me?"

"Oh, come on, you think he wouldn't remember the only 14-year-old teen to go through two weeks of SAS training alongside a unit of regulars? It's rare enough to have anyone underage there, let alone training like a soldier."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh' indeed."

They lapsed back into silence. It took nearly half an hour to get to the house where the command center of the rescue mission was located, since it was on the outskirts of Brecon instead of anywhere near the Llyn y Fan area. He wondered whether they all had radios with GPS linkup, or whether there was a relay station somewhere in between, to make it possible to have a command center that far from the action.

Eagle stopped the truck but didn't exit. Instead, he turned towards Alex. "Well, Cub, that's it. Been nice to see you again. Take care, and don't let any more godfathers shoot either you or Ben."

"Sure." He smiled at Eagle who, to his surprise, offered him a hand to shake. "Thanks. Same goes for you. Give Wolf and Snake my regards."

"Will do."

Alex nodded and jumped out of the jeep. The rain had almost stopped, having become so thin that it wasn't much wetter than the fog earlier.

He walked up to the house and knocked on the door since he couldn't find a doorbell. It didn't take long before a tired looking man in his late forties answered. "What'ya want?"

"I'm Alex Rider, and I just got dropped off here. If this is Rescue Command, you're looking for my mates out there."

The man shook his hand and gave him a serious look-over from head to toe. "Pete McMillan, I'm leading this operation. Thought it would take you longer to get here. So you're the one who carved his way through half of Llyn y Fan?"

"Pardon?" What in the world was he talking about?

The answer was a sigh and the guy holding the door open for him. "Well, come in first. We found your trail markings half an hour ago, and they're tracking them back now."

"You are?" He perked up. It sounded like it was only a matter of time until they found Tom and the others.

"Yeah." The man ushered Alex into a living room that had been remodeled into a command center. Very detailed maps of the Brecon Beacons, partially overlayed with search grids, hung on the wall; heavy radio equipment was on desks along one side, and plenty of other assorted papers strewn across a make-shift conference table in the center. And on every surface he looked, there were old coffee cups and water bottles and plates with crumbs on them.

"Here, sit down. It's mainly a waiting game now, since they've picked up your trail. You got to be some monster, Kid."

Alex blinked. "Eh? Why?"

MacMillan fetched one of the maps that hadn't been tacked down against a wall. "I heard you were picked up around the Usk Reservoir area? Well, they found your trail here, on the southern side of the ridge, and they're still tracking it further east. As it is now, you've walked at least 15 kilometers already. Got to hand it to you, you've got stamina."

"So I did go around the massif," Alex groaned and rubbed his eyes. "At least it's no bloody wonder that my feet are sore."

"Indeed. I see they gave you some new clothes? Do you have your old ones with you, or did they confiscate them as payment?" Now that he had someone to talk to, the man looked a lot more awake than before. His eyes were sharp and focused, but surrounded by laugh lines. Not enough to hide the fact that McMillan probably was serious most of the time, but it showed that he also had a more easy-going side. And tonight, Alex seemed to have caught him in one of his better moods.

Alex patted his backpack. "I got them here. And I kind of told the guy I got these clothes from that I'd leave them at their camp, but then I forgot…"

"I take it yours are still wet? It's been raining since just about noon; you must have been soaked through."

"Yeah, I guess." Well, not quite soaked through, but pretty damp and clammy.

McMillan motioned to a door off the side. "You can hang them in the bathroom to dry. It's no good if you keep them cramped up like that, since it looks like you're going to be staying some time here anyway."

"I am?" Alex had been wondering what they were planning to do with him.

"Well, looks like it might be some time still until we find your mates, and the bunkhouse you've been staying at doesn't let anyone in after midnight. Which is only an hour away by now. And probably all your mates are going to stay the night at the hospital, 'cause with the weather like that, it's pretty sure they're hypothermic."

Nodding, Alex hoped that nothing worse than that would come of it. "Ah. And what about me? Are you going to take me to them when you find them? And I probably should take care of our things in the bunkhouse because I doubt we're going back there…"

If there hadn't been a table between them, Alex was quite sure the guy would have patted him on the shoulder in an attempt of consolation. "Calm down, lad, no need to panic. After we've found them and you know they're ok, you can go lie down upstairs. No sense running off to the hospital in the middle of the night; they wouldn't let you stay anyway. Tomorrow morning, someone's first going to take you to your bunkhouse so that you can get all your things, and then they're going to take you to the hospital. There, you can wait for one of your guardians to come and get you. They've been informed."

Alex took great care to nod and smile at the man. He just hoped and prayed that MI6 would _not_ show up. That would really be the last straw of this already fucked up vacation. But since he wasn't in any danger or involved in any kind of mission, chances were good that they'd send Jack to come and get him instead. Not that he liked inconveniencing her like that, but seeing her familiar face would be infinitely better than having to follow some anonymous guy in a meticulously pressed black suit.

"You hungry?" McMillan asked after a small stretch of silence. "Most of the stuff here's caffeine and snacks, but there should be enough real food to make a decent sandwich or two."

Curious, Alex cocked his head. "Why does everyone think I should be half starved? The guy at Usk Reservoir already gave me some energy bars, and I haven't even gone through my own stack of them yet."

A snort answered him. "You're a teenager, and teenagers are always hungry. And energy bars aren't real food. So, up for a sandwich or not?" Intelligent eyes overshadowed by thick and bushy eyebrows stared at him expectantly.

"What if I said no?" Alex blinked innocently.

McMillan's laugh lines creased into a smirk. "Then I'd have to tell you that I don't believe you that you aren't a teenager." He gestured with his hands. "There's the kitchen; help yourself, I got to babysit the radio. Just leave some of the bacon for breakfast tomorrow."

"Sure, thanks."

As if to prove McMillan's statement true, the radio promptly crackled.

"Rescue command, this is Rescue 3. Found the next marker at .86545, .71688, I repeat .86545, .71688, over."

"Rescue 3, Rescue command. Marker at .86545, .71688, copy you." The man quickly looked at the map hung directly above the radio station and marked another x in a series of x's dotting the landscape in a wobbly curve. Alex assumed that was all the markings he had left. McMillan nodded to himself before going back to the radio. "All units, this is Rescue command. Marker at .86545, .71688. Set up new search cone, bearing north 72 degrees east. I repeat, N 72° E (3). It can't be far anymore. Over."

"Rescue command, Rescue 5. That's what you said the last few times."

Alex watched McMillan roll his eyes and depress the 'talk' button once more. "Rescue 5, shut up and keep looking. We aren't getting any younger over here."

A collective snort came back. "At least you're warm and toasty while getting older. I believe it isn't you who's freezing their ass off out here, Rescue Command."

"Suck it up. Rescue Command out."

Shaking his head, McMillan stepped back from the radio and caught Alex watching him from the doorway to the kitchen where he had been going before the radio call. McMillan shrugged slightly. "Don't worry, they're always like that. But they're really good at what they do; they're going to find your mates."

Alex managed a small smile. "Alright."

During the time it took him to find everything in the kitchen, prepare his sandwich and eat it, another two markers had been found. McMillan had merely shaken his head and mumbled something about just how much stamina Alex had, but then had gone back to reading an ancient-looking paperback.

After finishing his sandwich, Alex didn't really know what to do, being filled with too much nervous energy to just sit around. In lack of any better option, he started gathering all the used dishes in the room and took them into the kitchen. McMillan raised an eyebrow but didn't comment in favor of continuing reading his novel. Washing and drying the dishes took another ten minutes and two markers.

Then the radio crackled once again, quite a bit sooner after the last marker than he'd expected. "Rescue Command, this is Rescue 2. I think I found them, over."

Alex almost dropped the glass he was drying.

* * *

(1) Regiment: What SAS soldiers call the SAS.

(2) Tour: a 3-year period of service in the SAS. It's the minimum period of service, and only when one tour's finished can they sign on for the next one.

(3) N 72° E: The way to give a bearing in land surveying. Should be self-explanatory – face north and then make a 72° turn east. Anything between 90° and 180° (e.g. N 135° E) is counted from the opposite direction: S 45° E

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, cliff-hanger. I know I'm evil. One more chapter, and this is done. I didn't have anything else planned for this beyond Alex getting help to rescue his friends, and he already did that. What's left is the aftermath, and that's going to take a while because I'm busy and I don't have anything written for the next chapter yet.

Most of you guessed that K-Unit would be involved in some way, and I hope you weren't disappointed. I'm sorry if I offended anyone by making Eagle the joker he seems to be in most other AR fictions by tacit consensus. However, I didn't give him enough screen time to introduce any other view of him, so you'll just have to live with it…

Fräulein Weisenheimer: Lol, you practically read my mind. I already had the scene with Sean asking him when you reviewed, and I was wondering whether I had cut off the first chapter later than I had intended to.

oppa: … you're lucky that I still remember enough French to be able to read your review. My knowledge's not good enough to answer in kind though, so you'll have to make do with an English response: thanks a lot.

Everyone else who reviewed: thank you very much!

Sakiku


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next fifteen minutes were a flurry of activity, with the rescue team making sure they had found the right group, the paramedic doing a first triage of the situation, and everyone else from the search party being called back.

McMillan marked the spot on his big map, and Alex had to groan. If he had headed straight east instead of north-west, he would have found a big paved street less than an hour away. He really wanted to bang his head against something.

While the people out there were waiting for the guys with the stretcher – Mike couldn't walk due to his broken leg – someone had the glorious idea of letting Alex talk to his mates. Of course, Alex immediately demanded to speak to Tom, and McMillan quickly showed him how to work the radio equipment.

Static crackled, and then there was Tom's voice. "Alex?"

Alex fumbled a bit with the mic and McMillan pointed him to the 'talk' button. Smiling slightly at the man, Alex replied, "Hey, Tom. I can hear you've survived?"

The radio crackled. "No thanks to you, mate. I tell you, next time I'm the one to go and get help. Anything's got to be better than freezing off my butt for a solid nine hours and having to listen to two whiney brats throughout it."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Two?"

He heard Tom snort. "Corporal Woodstock woke up about an hour after you left. And then he assumed command."

Alex winced. He could imagine how well _that_ had gone over with his friend. Tom was an anarchist at heart and whenever he didn't like someone, he got about twice as bad. Oh, not outright disobedience, but he had a way of making witty comments that, so far, had driven everyone he'd subjected to them spare. Alex pressed the 'talk' button again. "Well, I'm sure you told him what you thought of that. How's Darren?"

"Wrapped up in fleece blankets like a mummy and holding onto Big Bro's shirt-tails. I think I'm going to worship whoever invented hot chocolate. Damn it's cold out here. You lucky bastard have been warm and cozy for hours, I take it?"

Alex had to laugh. "Yeah, sure, but only after I ran my legs into the ground. I'll tell you tomorrow when I rescue you heroically from the clutches of hospital."

He heard Tom groan beneath the static. "Oh, shut up. I guess that's the end of our hiking vacation, eh?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "Do _you_ want to tell Jack that two 15-year-olds are stumbling through the Brecon Beacons without any adult supervision whatsoever? And, anyway, they had to call my legal guardians, and you can guess how well something like that would go over with them."

"Your _legal guardian_? Not Jack?" Despite the static, Alex could hear how incredulous Tom sounded. "What the hell did you do now, Rider?"

"Nothing! I just found accidentally what Mike was looking for. Well, as I said, I'll tell you tomorrow. Bye Tom!"

Smirking, Alex got up from the microphone despite Tom's protests of 'You can't do that to me, Alex' and 'Come back here right now and tell me what that's supposed to mean!'.

McMillan raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Instead, he retook his place as radio dispatch and coordinator of the rescue party. Alex listened to them, finally able to relax now that he knew Tom and the others were alright. Well, as alright as someone suffering from hypothermia could be, but at least it was nothing life-threatening or even too serious now that plenty of warm stuff was available. Mike was the worst off, mostly because of his broken leg. The fracture itself wasn't too complicated, but since he had been unable to move because of it, his hypothermia was the worst of the three.

Slowly, Alex's eyelids began to droop. He was toasty warm, the chair wasn't too uncomfortable, his friends were alright, and he was starting to feel his incredibly long (it was after midnight, and they had gotten up at six) and exhausting day. After the third time that his head slipped because he had nodded off, McMillan caught on. "Alex."

Alex startled out of his doze. "Hmmm?"

He blinked a few times because he realized his eyes had slid shut of their own accord.

McMillan snorted. "If you're going to crash, do that through there in the living room. There's a perfectly acceptable couch in there and there's a blanket in the chair next to it. You know where the bathroom is, and I'll leave a light on that you don't fall over anything in the dark. Good night."

"Mhkay," Alex hummed tiredly. "Thanks. G'night."

It took a lot of effort to get up and get his body moving, but he knew that if he actually fell asleep on the wooden chair he was currently sitting on, he'd wake with one hell of a crick in his neck.

Too tired to walk properly, he shuffled into the room the guy had indicated. He barely had enough energy to pick up the blanket and unfold it before he collapsed on the promised couch. The only thing he consciously realized before he fell asleep was the cloying scent of some rosy potpourri – he doubted that it had been McMillan's choice because it smelled too female – and a playboy magazine he had to unbury from beneath the couch pillow he was trying to use as head rest.

The next thing he realized was the smell of frying bacon and sunlight warming his legs. After a brief moment of disorientation at the unfamiliar surroundings of heavy, dark wooden furniture and creamy white carpet, he remembered last night. With a groan, he looked at his watch. Seven Thirty. Almost seven hours of sleep, and he still felt knackered.

Nonetheless he got up because he knew it wouldn't do him any good to go back to sleep. For one, McMillan probably would want to get rid of him as soon as possible. For another, his stomach was growling, and he realized he had to go to the bathroom rather urgently. He didn't have much trouble finding it, and he used the sink to wash his face and get rid of the grime that had collected in his eyes. Afterwards, he followed his nose and his ears towards the sizzling bacon.

"Morning," he greeted from the doorway. McMillan, who was still outfitted in lazy sleepwear, was tending to the frying pan and didn't seem startled a bit that his guest had decided to make an appearance.

"Thought that'd get you up. Morning. Coffee or tea?"

"Huh?" was Alex's not very intelligent commentary. It seemed his brain wasn't quite up to working order yet.

McMillan rolled his eyes. "To drink. What do you want. Coffee or tea? And do you want your eggs scrambled or sunny side up? You didn't think I'd let you go without breakfast, did you? Your ride will be here in an hour, so that gives us plenty of time to eat."

"Eh, yeah. Thanks. Tea, please. And scrambled."

Breakfast passed in silence, but not uncomfortably so with a radio playing softly in the background. And McMillan didn't seem any more awake than Alex, so their conversation was nonexistent except for the occasional 'pass me the marmalade, please' and 'take some more bacon, I know that all teens have bottomless stomachs'.

When the doorbell rang, they had already washed the dishes and put away all breakfast stuff except for the teapot and a cup for each of them. "That's your ride."

Alex nodded and went to collect his things, mainly just his backpack and the army jacket he had shed to sleep. He heard how McMillan opened the door and greeted whoever was stuck ferrying Alex around, a man from the sound of his voice.

When Alex saw him, it took some time before he recognized the guy. "Sean?" he asked incredulously. But no matter how he looked, this was the veteran who had manned the waypoint Alex had stumbled over last night.

"Hey kid. I heard they found your friends alright?" Now in broad day-light, Sean looked a lot younger than he had seemed with the small torch-light throwing strange shadows across his face. He stood straight in a military posture, still wearing the same things as he had last night.

Alex nodded. "Yeah. And I got really, really badly turned around. They were at .8566 .7031, if you believe it… What are you doing here, I thought stuff like that would take the whole night?"

The veteran brushed his hand over the stubble that was starting to grow in around his chin. "Yeah, it does. But it's morning now, isn't it? I got done just in time to pick you up on my way home. So, Brecon War Memorial Hospital it is?"

"Yeah."

Alex said a brief good bye to McMillan, and then followed the ex-SAS to his jeep. Honestly, what was it with SAS guys and jeeps? Eagle had one, Sean had one…

The drive to the hospital passed with light conversation, Alex complaining about how embarrassing his sense of direction was, Sean regaling him with some anonymous details from his own missions. Now that Alex had signed the Official Secrets act (or now that the veteran thought he had), Sean didn't have to watch himself that much anymore.

They arrived just as visiting hours began at 0930h, and Alex nearly forgot to give back the jacket yet again. He was still wearing it because the morning air was quite cool, making him shiver after the warmth in the jeep.

Sean merely waved him off. "Oh, keep it. Use it to boast in front of your mates that you've seen some real SAS soldiers or something, I don't need it. Was nice seeing you again, and I hope I'll see you in selection in five, six years!"

Before Alex could answer, the veteran had already sped off. Shaking his head, the teenage spy turned around to brave the horrors of the hospital.

**

* * *

A/N:** Short chapter and crappy, but I was feeling too guilty for not updating in such a long time. There's gonna be a short epilogue, and then that's it. At least I didn't leave you with a cliffie this time…


	4. Epilogue

**A/N:** I don't have any excuses, except for excessive laziness. And that isn't an excuse. Here's the last chapter, finally, after more than one year of waiting. Have fun!

* * *

**Epilogue**

Alex had no sooner reached the door to Tom's room, than he was already assaulted by Mr. and Mrs. Harris' raised voices.

"... leave the boy alone, he's just fine, aren't you, Tom?"

"Don't say that, Albert, he could have died out there! You're never going on a trip alone, you hear me?"

"He's fifteen, and he's old enough to look after himself."

"Oh, like you were? Don't think I've forgotten that rumor that you got Yolanda pregnant during Secondary!"

Alex carefully cracked the door open, just enough so that he could see Tom sitting on a white bed, dressed and ready to go, and grinding his teeth at his parents' continuously escalating argument. Signaling his friend, Alex saw a wave of relief spread over Tom's face. With an air of unhurried nonchalance, Tom got off the bed and walked to the door. His parents were too busy arguing to notice him leave. Quiet as a ghost, Alex opened the door just far enough for Tom to slip out, and then closed it once again just as silently.

Tom exhaled. "Thanks, man, you're a life saver."

"No problem. Didn't think it was that bad still."

The look Tom gave him spoke volumes. "Why do you think I wanted to leave so bad?"

Alex smiled wryly. "I would, too. You're alright?"

"Peachy. Not even a cold." A grimace. "Yet."

"Same for me."

They looked at each other, then laughed.

"Come on, I want to see how Darren and Mike are," Alex suggested. "Let's tell the nurse, so that your parents don't freak out when they realize you're gone."

Tom rolled his eyes, but started down the hallway. The nurse's station was pretty much at the other end, a large glass pane signaling its presence.

"Want to bet on how long it takes them?" Tom asked morbidly. "Better tell the nurse that we're going to the cafeteria afterwards."

"We are?"

"Sure. I'm a poor, enfeebled invalid, and you're the hero who saved us all from a wretched death. The least my parents can do is cough up some coffee money."

Alex started grinning. "And some cake perhaps?"

Tom's expression joined him. "And some cake, of course. Finally discovering that you're a growing teen-age boy, too?"

"Why, of course I am a growing teenager!" Pretending to be offended, Alex crossed his arms and mock-pouted a bit. Then his face dissolved into a smirk. "At least that's what they've been telling me constantly for the past twelve hours. Thought I'd give it a try."

And yes, he had timed that exactly right: as soon as he stopped talking, they were at the nurse's desk, and Alex knew that Tom wasn't going to ask when someone else was listening. Not after Alex had hinted that he'd had an encounter of the SAS kind last night.

"You're evil, mate," Tom complained. "Really evil."

Alex bowed. "Always glad to be of service."

That was when the nurse occupying the desk, looked up from her work. She was about mid-fifties, with a friendly face and graying hair pulled back together in a pony-tail. However, she had the air of overworked, overstressed caretaker who wanted nothing more than go and lie down for a couple of hours. Or better yet, days.

She wasn't quite unfriendly, but very short. "Yes? Can I help you?"

Alex watched as Tom pulled out all the stops and turned on the charm on 130 percent. Well, he had been aware that Tom knew how to get what he wanted, but he hadn't thought his friend was that good of an actor.

"Oh, we're sorry to disturb you, Ma'am. I'm Tom Harris from 218. My parents have come to take me home, but they're arguing. Again." He drew an artful grimace that immediately had the nurse's sympathy. Definitely great acting, Alex complimented him silently. "They didn't even realize when I left. My friend and I wanted to go visit Darren and Michael Woodstock, the two who were brought in together with me yesterday evening. They're in 259, as far as I know. We thought we'd at least tell someone so that my parents don't go into hysterics once they remember my existence."

The nurse smiled tiredly, but compassionately. "Of course, dear. That's very considerate of you. I wish that my own boys were that thoughtful."

Tom actually _blushed_. Alex could barely keep his laughter in check.

"Thank you very much," Tom said. "Could you perhaps also tell them that, if we aren't in 259 anymore, we're down in the cafeteria on the ground floor? That would be great."

"No problem. Can you tell me again your details?"

Tom repeated himself, and the nurse quickly jotted down some notes in a scrawl that Alex wondered how anyone was supposed to read. Without magnifying glasses and a thorough grounding in cryptography at least. He could make out something that might have resembled a 218, but it could have been 579 as well. Or pretty much anything. Not necessarily numbers, either.

"Have a nice day, dears!"

Both Tom and Alex smiled back, the picture-perfect image of polite young gentlemen. "You too, Ma'am."

As soon as they were away from the nurse's desk though, Tom's smile dropped into a scowl. "Don't think I didn't see you laughing your ass off just now. You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

No matter how good Tom was at acting, Alex was the master. And he had fun reminding his friend of that. "I don't know what you're talking about." There was no way that butter would melt in such an innocent mouth.

Tom actually growled. "Oh, I think you do. Now spill! What happened last night?"

"Got lost, walked fifteen kilometers, stumbled over a camouflage tent, found someone who had a radio, and then got shipped off to the search and rescue headquaters. Spent the night there, had everyone I met trying to give me some food, and then someone drove me here. Oh, and by the way, we still need to get our things from the bunk-house. I'd love to have a set of fresh clothes. Or a proper shower."

Tom looked at him, his dirt-stained pants, his muddy boots, his rumpled t-shirt, and nodded. "Yeah, mate, you probably should. A miracle that they let you in here at all." He briefly paused, before shaking his head in exasperation. "You're doing it again. Distracting me."

"Yep." Alex was utterly unrepentant. He had to get in his fun somewhere, didn't he? "Oh, and by the way, if they're really in 259, we're here."

Yet another growl. "You just did it again! Just you wait and see, I won't leave you alone until you spill the whole truth to me, Rider!"

Alex bared his teeth. "Bring it on, Harris!"

For a few seconds, their eyes sent angry sparks at each other. Then they dissolved in laughter so hard that they were bent over at the waist. It took a while for them to calm down again.

Alex smiled slightly and straightened up. He held out a hand, smile diminishing. "Glad to see you're alright, Tom."

Tom nodded and clasped Alex's offered forearm in a brief handshake. His eyes were utterly serious, too. "Same with you, mate. Same with you."

Then the moment was gone, and Tom released him with a pat on his back that was more forceful than friendly. "Now, shall we brave the dangers of a grumpy Corporal Woodstock and his equally grumpy brother?"

Alex didn't budge an inch. He smirked. "We shall."

~The End~

* * *

_The entire room, filled with hardened SAS soldiers, groaned when Eagle practically skipped in and sing-sanged: "Oh, guu-uuyyys~! Guess who I just me-et~!"_

* * *

~ The Real End~

* * *

**A/N:**

To my faithful reviewers: Thank you so much for your continued support! I am sorry to disappoint some of you (no Sean, no K-Unit) when you were the ones to give me the motivation to finally finish this story. Every now and then, a reminder in form of a review arrived in my inbox, so that I could never forget completely about this fic. And I was starting to feel seriously bad for stringing you along for such a long time...

Anyway, it's finally done! I hope you enjoyed the trip and had a great time (and perhaps even learned a thing or two - I sure did). There won't be a sequel, not least of all because of how hard it was to write the epilogue. I just don't have the inspiration / material for a continuation. Sorry for that.

Until next time!

Sakiku


End file.
